


Encore

by zelda_zee



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:16:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2408168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_zee/pseuds/zelda_zee





	Encore

On the Tuesday afternoon before his first performance, Lance got four text messages that read “neck n leg break.” It was a thing they said to each other that made absolutely no sense to anyone else. You’d have to have been there to understand.

Joey made it to his first performance – count on Joey not to miss his debut. He showed up backstage before the curtain went up with a 100-watt smile and a huge, warm hug that lifted Lance clear off his feet, not minding the makeup that rubbed off onto his jacket. Afterward, he stood in the crowded dressing room, his arm draped over Lance’s shoulders, and Lance wouldn’t have wanted to admit it, but having Joey there that night steadied him in a way no one else’s presence could have. Somehow he figured Joey knew that even though he didn’t say a word about it.

Chris came to the show a few nights later. They went out drinking afterward and Chris insisted Lance take him to the hottest club in New York, so Lance called Pedro because he knew that kind of thing better than Lance did since really, he was still getting to know the city. It had been a while since he’d spent much time there. As they got into bed that night Pedro told Lance that Chris was exhausting.

“Oh, really?” Lance asked. He thought about it for a minute. “Yeah, I guess he is. I don’t really notice it though.” By now, Lance figured he’d built up a lifetime’s immunity to Chris’ unique brand of insanity.

It was more of a production when Justin came, simply because he was Justin and even though he opted to watch from the wings he still had to be secretly ushered in and out and his mere presence created quite a stir among the cast and crew. Lance sat in a corner in his dressing room that night after the performance and watched Justin soak up the limelight and it was kind of like old times, right down to the sheepish smile Justin gave him when he caught his eye.

The weeks went by and he tried not to think about who hadn’t made it to the show yet, who hadn’t bothered to come, even though it _was_ his Broadway debut and the first major step forward in his career since he’d come out. And for the most part he did a pretty good job of pushing it to the back of his mind, because with eight performances a week he was a busy guy, not to mention his rather fabulous social calendar and the fact that Lance was something of an expert when it came to disciplining his thoughts, so that when he wanted to avoid thinking about something, he usually could.

Still, every night it would hit him right before he went on stage. Maybe his defenses were down then or something. He’d find himself wondering if this was the night that he’d be in the audience, and he knew it was stupid, because it’s not like they were all obligated to be supportive of everything that any of the other ones did for the rest of their lives (except they kind of were), and it’s not like it made a damn bit of difference if he came or not (except it kind of did) and it’s not like Lance had even given it all that much thought (except he kind of had), because if JC chose not to come see him perform then that was totally up to JC and Lance really couldn’t care less.

Except he kind of could.

Lance hadn’t seen him since the morning after the Life Ball, when he’d woken up with whole lot of JC curled around him, long legs twined with his, his arm heavy across Lance’s waist, his breath warm on the back of Lance’s neck. JC smelled like sweat and alcohol and sex and Lance’s left foot was asleep and his throat was parched and he needed to piss so badly it hurt, but he still lay there until the very last minute that he could and still manage to catch his plane because it felt surprisingly good to have JC plastered up against him again and it had been so fucking long and somehow Lance hadn’t even realized that he’d missed it so much.

God knew when or if he’d ever wake up like that again. It had been years since the last time, and it had taken the endless river of alcohol at the after-party mixed with the overwhelmingly hedonistic and sexually debauched nature of the entire evening to get them there. The night had been like some crazy combination of Carnival and Mardi Gras, and after hours of unrelenting partying, shameless flirting, and graphic examples all around them of people giving into carnal desires, Lance and JC’s painstakingly constructed cordial and courteous mutually-supportive, friends-and-nothing-more relationship had crumbled and Lance had ended up pinning JC to the bed and rubbing their cocks together to watch JC gasp and writhe beneath him, then flipping him over and fucking him until Lance’s name was the only word JC remembered and Lance was coming so hard he nearly blacked out.

And then he’d left for his early morning flight without waking JC to say goodbye, and Lance was starting to suspect that maybe that was why JC seemed to be making it a point to be conspicuously absent from the audience. He hadn’t really thought about it at the time, but as night after nights passed and there was still no sign of JC he was getting the feeling that maybe leaving like that had been a mistake.

It was exactly the sort of mistake Lance was prone to make – one that arose out of trying to be overly considerate, whilst completely overlooking the unintended consequences that might arise from his actions. He hadn’t seen the point in waking JC up after a long night of drinking and fucking just because he had to leave at the crack of dawn. Though now, when he thought about it, he had to admit that there was the chance that JC had interpreted it as a kind of _wham bam thank you ma’am_ thing on Lance’s part. He couldn’t even remember if he’d told JC he had a plane to catch.

It was a month into his Hairspray gig when he decided that he would have to call JC, even though he was not looking forward to that particular conversation. Much as he hated to admit it, especially given that he could get what he needed from Pedro or pretty much anyone else, and with negligible effort on his part, not to mention the fact that apart from that one little slip-up he and JC had kept it all very above-board for years, he wanted to see JC again and he wanted JC to come to see him perform and then he wanted to get JC alone and strip him naked and do every dirty thing he could think of to him and make him say his name again in that high, helpless way he did right before he came.

So he resolved that after the curtain call he would phone JC. He didn’t know where he was, but he was guessing LA, and it would be three hours earlier there, so that should be okay, although if he was in Europe it’d be really early in the morning and he’d just get voice mail. Lance kind of hoped he’d get voice mail, because that was always so much easier than dealing with a real person.

Not that Lance was good at avoidance or anything.

He’d chatted and schmoozed a bit and signed some autographs and did an interview and washed off his makeup and and then he couldn’t put it off any longer. His cell phone was sitting on the counter. He ran a hand through his hair, sighed and picked it up.

And at that moment there was a knock on the door of his dressing room.

“Yeah?” he called and the door opened and it was JC, looking a little nervous and holding a bottle of champagne.

“Hey, Shitty,” JC said softly, giving him a half-smile.

Lance just stared at him for a moment. JC, here. He looked at the phone in his hand, then back at JC.

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” said Lance.

JC’s smile widened. “Yeah, I know.” He handed Lance the champagne.

“Thanks,” said Lance, reading the label. The good stuff, but then he wouldn’t expect anything less of JC. "C, I'm so glad you're here." JC gave him a hug, quick and almost impersonal.

"Should I open it?" asked Lance, holding up the bottle.

JC shrugged. "Sure, if you want to." Lance figured a drink would probably be a good thing at this point, so he set about opening the champagne. He needed to do something with his hands anyway, because at the moment all he wanted to do was touch JC and he wasn’t sure how JC would take that.

“You were awesome,” said JC. He leaned back against the makeup counter. Lance glanced up at him and caught JC’s smile and he couldn’t help smiling in return. “You stole the fucking show, babe. You were like, blinding.”

Lance laughed a little. “Thanks, C. Thanks for coming, man. You should’ve given me some warning. I had no idea.” The cork released with a resounding _pop_. Lance grabbed a couple plastic cups from on top of the mini fridge and poured the champagne.

“Nah,” JC was saying. “I didn’t want to make a big deal, you know? I just wanted to come and see your show and have it be a surprise.” He took the cup that Lance held out for him. “To you, dude,” he said, holding it up in a toast. “To your Broadway career. May it be a long and successful one.”

Lance watched JC as he sipped his champagne. He seemed a bit subdued, but he looked damn good. Though JC always looked good, even at his worst – and Lance had been one of the privileged few who’d ever actually seen JC truly at his worst – he managed somehow to still look better than pretty much anyone one else. And tonight, in tight black leather pants and a clingy pale blue shirt the same color as his eyes, he was looking too goddamned fuckable for words. Lance took a big gulp of champagne.

“It’s really great to have you here, C. It’s good to see you again. You look great, man.”

“Thanks,” said JC. “You like the pants? I got them in London, tailor-made.”

Lance studied JC's pants, eyebrow raised, for a long minute. Those pants were sinfully tight. He could see the muscles in JC’s thighs, the subtle outline of his cock tucked a bit to the right. He held up his hand, making a turning motion with his wrist and JC giggled, obediently facing away from him.

“The pants,” stated Lance, “are criminally hot. But then you know that, don’t you?” JC, the little slut, was well aware of the effect he had. “Did you wear them just to torture me?”

“Now, Lance,” JC said innocently. “Would I do such a thing?”

Lance gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Oh, I know you would. I have no doubt.”

JC leaned back against the makeup counter, saying nothing. He took another drink of champagne and so did Lance and the silence stretched between them until it started to make Lance uncomfortable.

“You know,” he said finally. “It’s the weirdest thing. I swear to God, I was just gonna call you.”

JC snorted and shot him a look of disbelief.

“No, seriously, C, I was.”

“I haven’t talked to you in months, Lance,” JC said.

“I know,” said Lance. “And I’ve been meaning to call and I swear I was going to _tonight_ – but here you are.”

“Here I am.” JC smiled, spreading his arms wide, but there was something about that smile – it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I should have called,” said Lance. JC’s arms dropped to his sides. “I should have called you, C.”

“I could have called you too, you know.” JC turned around and started fiddling with a box of stage makeup on the counter, picking up various sticks and tubes and examining them.

“You could have,” Lance said. He took a breath. He knew he needed to say it, or it would just hang there between them. “But I’m the one who left, so I should have called.” JC didn’t look at him, but he could see the color rise in JC’s cheeks. “I had a plane to catch and I didn’t want to wake you up,” Lance said softly, taking a step closer. “But I didn’t think how you might take it. I should have said goodbye, and I should have called. I just… I don’t know, C.” He ran his hand through his hair, forgetting that it was shellacked into place for the show. “I still suck at the stuff I always sucked at. That hasn’t changed much.”

JC touched his finger to the tip of a stick of white grease paint. “You’ve been busy with the show and everything. It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. It’s cool.” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, smearing the makeup around. Lance watched him, taking in the tightness in the way he held his shoulders, the still expression on his face. JC was good at hiding behind a façade. He was a pro, as only someone who’d grown up in show business could be. But Lance knew that façade inside out and even though he didn’t see so much of JC these days, as he’d said, some things didn’t change.

He stepped closer to JC, took the stick of grease paint from him. JC didn’t meet his eyes. “Are you mad, JC?”

“No, man,” JC scoffed. His hands fell to his lap, then gripped the edge of the counter. He still avoided Lance’s eyes, in fact he was looking at his feet in their no doubt custom-made boots. “I told you. No harm, no foul. We had a good time, right? End of story.”

Lance sighed. He wondered if JC was this transparent to everyone or if it was just that he knew him so well. He sincerely hoped it was the latter.

“I’m sorry, C.” Lance stepped forward, into the V of JC’s legs, reaching out and tilting his chin up so he could see JC’s face. After a minute, JC met Lance’s gaze, blinking rapidly a few times. “Do you forgive me, baby?”

"There's nothing to forgive," JC said, sounding a bit exasperated.

Lance didn't let go though. "JC..."

JC’s eyes cut away to the side. “You know I forgive you, Lance.” His voice was so soft that Lance leaned in closer to hear him. “I always forgive you, don’t I?”

“You do, darlin’.” Lance reached up, caressing JC’s cheek, his fingers sliding back over the soft, short strands of his hair. “You’re too good to me.”

“I know I’m too good to you,” JC said, his lips wearing the barest hint of a smile. “You’re my weak spot, man. I can’t hold a grudge where you’re concerned.”

Lance didn’t point out that JC couldn’t hold a grudge where anyone was concerned. JC liked to think of himself as tough-minded, but he simply lacked the ability to stay angry for more than a day or two. Lance, who could hold a grudge for years, was never able to understand how JC could be so forgiving, though that hadn’t stopped him from taking advantage of JC’s lenient nature on more than one occasion.

“Lucky for me,” said Lance. “Let me make it up to you, babe.”

JC looked at him in surprise and Lance could see that he wasn’t at all sure about that. But that was okay. It just meant that he’d have to convince JC. Convincing JC was fun.

He moved in closer, pinning JC against the makeup counter. He really did look delectable, if a bit wan and even skinnier than usual. His shirt picked up the color of his eyes and his skin was like porcelain and his arms were still the most perfect Lance had ever seen, and those fucking criminal pants hugged his hips and ass like a second skin that Lance just wanted to peel back so he could get to all the good things hidden underneath.

He leaned in, nuzzling JC right below his ear, brushing his lips over the place that he knew made him go weak in the knees. JC stiffened, but he didn’t move away.

“I know just what you like,” Lance whispered, letting his accent take over. He knew JC was a sucker for the accent. “Just what you need. I know your secrets, C. I can make you feel so good, you know I can. I want to make it up to you.” JC’s breath had sped up, his hands coming up to rest on Lance’s chest.

“You’ve got a boyfriend, Lance,” JC protested.

“We’re not exclusive,” Lance said, drawing back a bit so he could meet JC’s eyes. “We date, but it’s partly a publicity thing. We both see other people. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

“I believe you,” JC said immediately, and it gave Lance a pang, that JC would trust so easily. Lance was telling the truth, but still, he wished JC would learn to be a bit more suspicious.

Lance’s hand went to the back of JC’s neck and he pressed his lips more firmly to that spot beneath his ear, his tongue tracing patterns over it. He felt JC shiver and it made Lance catch his breath. God, he wanted JC so badly it _ached_. He inhaled, breathing in the scent of him, clean, spicy, a faint whiff of cologne, a fainter hint of sweat. He was almost trembling with suppressed desire and he wondered, as he trailed open-mouthed kisses over JC’s neck, how they had ever convinced themselves that they could be just friends.

He knew that he probably shouldn’t be doing this, that it could get messy and complicated, that things with JC were never simple and straightforward, but he didn’t care. JC had been haunting his thoughts for the past three and a half months, no matter how hard he’d tried to forget about him and now with JC right here in front of him, looking too damned gorgeous to resist, he just pushed all the reasons why this wasn’t a good idea to the back of his mind.

“I missed you, C,” he murmured, pitching his voice low and letting the lust creep into it. He tongued JC’s ear, feeling as much as hearing his sudden indrawn breath. “So much. There’s no one else like you, you know that?”

“I didn’t come here for this,” JC said, but his voice was shaky.

“I know. But you want it, don’t you?” Lance bit down sharply on the lobe of JC’s ear, slid his hand over the front of his pants, feeling his stiff cock straining against its leather prison. _So hot_. “You always want it, don’t you, C?” He rubbed over the hard ridge and JC’s hips moved into his hand. Lance glanced to the mirror, watched JC’s butt flex. “Such a horny boy,” he whispered into the warm crook of JC’s neck. He squeezed JC’s dick and his hips jerked. “ _My_ horny boy.”

“It’s just – it’s been a while,” panted JC.

“How long’s a while?” asked Lance, taking a step back, but keeping his hand where it was. JC looked even better now, with two spots of color on his cheeks and his usually-perfect hair just a little mussed and a very noticeably erect cock making those pants do exactly what they were meant to do. He ran his fingers up and down it, pressing a bit at the tip and JC sat down hard on the counter behind him, as if his legs suddenly wouldn’t hold him.

“Since – since the – since I saw you – Lance, Jesus, I can’t think when you - _ohhh_."

Lance kissed him, and JC’s lips were open and hungry, parting invitingly. His tongue swept in, working its way around JC’s mouth, tasting mint and champagne, delicious. One of JC’s hands was in his hair, the other at the small of his back pulling him in tighter. Lance rocked between JC's thighs, grunting as their cocks ground together, feeling anticipation crackle along his nerves. He pulled back to look at JC’s lips, flushed pink and wet. So pretty, Lance thought, the funny shape of the top one, the bottom one pouty and full. He rubbed his thumb over it, one way, then back and JC closed his mouth around it and drew it in. Lance felt a tightening in his groin as JC sucked hard, his thumb fitting into the roof of his mouth, his tongue sliding around over the fleshy part.

“You haven’t – since Vienna?” Lance was finding it hard to concentrate with his thumb in JC’s mouth.

JC shook his head, not letting up on the suction.

“Why not? That must be some kind of record for you.” He slowly withdrew his thumb from JC’s mouth, watching his lips cling to it.

“I just didn’t want to,” said JC. “I didn’t feel like it.”

“You feel like it now?” Lance asked, giving JC’s cock a squeeze. JC nodded, his eyes dilating as Lance watched. “I bet you do. I bet you need it bad. Do you need to be fucked, C?” JC’s eyes fell closed and he let a little noise escape, almost a whimper. “Do you need me to fuck you?” JC nodded again, fast and jerky, and _oh fuck_. Lance needed him. Now. Couldn't wait.

“Open your pants.” His voice was rough, low and scratchy.

JC’s eyes flew open. “Here? But – someone might come in.”

“No one’ll come in.” The dressing room door didn’t have a lock, but no one would just barge through. Still, a look at the apprehensive expression on JC’s face was enough to make him grab a chair and wedge it under the doorknob. “There. Privacy assured. Now," he turned around, crossing his arms and lifting an eyebrow, "Unbutton your pants, C. And take off your shirt, while you're at it.”

*

JC stared at him for a moment, his eyes wide, and then he stripped off his shirt. Lance smiled, because how could he not? It always made Lance smile to see JC in the flesh, as it were. He was just so lithe and lovely, the long lines of his limbs, the way he moved with unconscious grace, the sexuality that imbued everything he did. JC was an extremely sexual guy, and half the time he wasn’t even trying. Of course, when he _was_ trying, that was another thing altogether.

Yes, JC was a very sexual kind of guy, not that that would be a surprise to anyone who knew him. Or had watched him perform, even from the very back row at their biggest stadium show. Or had ever seen photos of him. Or who had maybe once caught a glimpse of him for about two seconds, even if from a great distance. It was kind of hard to miss, especially since JC didn't exactly try to hide it.

Anyway, that was why Lance was fairly stunned that JC had been celibate for three and a half months - longer than he could ever remember JC being celibate since sometime in 1998, which Lance suspected was when he'd discovered the joy of dick other than his own. At any rate, to JC three and a half months was akin to eternity and Lance wasn’t sure he wanted to question the reason why he was apparently the last person JC fucked, or why JC was suddenly eager to get laid again after that uncharacteristically long dry spell.

Lance's heart skipped a beat as he realized that he might be in over his head. But it was too late now, because JC was unbuttoning his fly and pulling his cock out and Lance swallowed hard as his mouth watered. He couldn't stop staring at it, the way it jutted out, hard and flushed dusky red, framed by the black leather of his pants and _God_. JC's hands twitched like he wanted to touch himself, but then he just let them fall to his sides and looked up at Lance, who was trying - really, he was - to tear his eyes away from JC's gorgeous cock and the neat little triangle with perfectly straight edges that his pubic hair had been waxed into. Just the suggestion of a bush, trimmed short, and JC was such a prick tease because he _knew_ what that did to Lance, damn him. Oh God, he’d be waxed up the back too, Lance thought and the shudder that worked its way through him at that started in his dick and slid up his spine and all around his body before it ended up right back where it began.

That was his boy, thought Lance. Always ready for action. And he was gonna get some, oh yeah.

“Jesus, C. Just look at you.” Lance quirked an eyebrow, striving for cool. "Not even wearing underwear. You're just asking for it, you know."

He didn’t say that to be mean. He said it because JC liked it. Dirty talking got him hot. And Lance wanted him hot.

“Shut up, Lance. Jeez, you're such a dick,” JC said, but his cheeks were pink and he was breathing fast. “I can’t wear underwear with these.”

“Yeah, and you thought if you showed up in those you could get me to fuck you, isn't that right? So you didn’t wear underwear cuz you wanted to be ready.” He moved closer coming to stand right in front of JC, but not touching him yet. He let his voice drop to a deep, filthy purr. “Ready to be fucked… whenever you got the chance... in a bathroom... or a taxi... or maybe…” he reached out with just a single finger and drew a circle around and around a nipple, watching it contract, “even…” he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger and JC hissed, a shiver rippling through him, “in a _dressing room_.” He moved in closer, closer, wrapped an arm around JC, pressing their bodies together, hot, smooth skin, the quick rise and fall of his chest, his eyes already hazy and sex-stoned. Lance put his mouth on JC’s ear, whispered low, “You come to see me looking like a total slut. Why would you do that, baby, unless you need it bad?”

JC shuddered, turned his face toward Lance. “You’re driving me crazy,” he breathed.

Lance kissed him softly on the lips. “The feeling’s mutual.” He put his hand on JC’s cock, stroked him loosely and JC moaned, his hips hitching into Lance’s grip. JC’s hand was fisted tight in Lance's hair, holding him as he brought their mouths together for a kiss that started out good and rapidly got better. JC’s tongue pushed into Lance’s mouth and he sucked on it, wringing a strangled gasp out of JC and then he was pressing passionate kisses to JC’s face and neck and JC was clutching at him and rubbing against him and panting. Lance wedged his thigh between JC’s legs and rolled it slowly over his cock and JC gasped and ground down hard onto his thigh. Lance watched in the mirror because he wanted to see JC do that hard, quick little hip thrust, the same one that he did all the time on stage, the one millions of people had seen, but not like this. Never like this.

That, Lance thought as he watched JC's ass flex, was one of the pros of JC topping, and it hadn't been so long that he'd forgotten the feeling of the sharp, powerful snap of his hips and the surprising strength hidden in that slight body. Yeah, he'd missed that. That, and following JC’s rhythm. JC had a way with rhythm. But he wouldn’t be topping tonight. Not a chance.

He was thrusting now, little jerking motions, tight and tense. Lance could feel how wound up he was, energy coiled inside him and ready to spring free. He smiled as the lyrics came to him, _Like a soda that's been shaken up, boom_. Yeah. Just like that.

He pushed JC back and spun him around so he was facing the mirror, pulling him back against his chest and _damn_ he looked really good. Lance’s gaze traveled from his face - even more beautiful now, with his long, dark lashes lying against flushed cheeks and his lips all swollen and kiss-reddened. His hand traveled downward over the pale skin of JC's chest, brushing his nipples, his ribs, lower, to the open fly of his pants and his cock standing up out of it. He pushed the pants lower on his hips and reached inside, into that warm animal heat, rolling his balls, rubbing behind them and watching as an opalescent bead emerged from the tiny slit at the tip of his cock.

“Look how pretty we are, baby,” Lance murmured, his lips pressed to JC’s neck. JC’s eyes blinked open, meeting Lance’s in the mirror and Lance smiled at him, kissed his neck, then licked, the skin too soft and fragrant to resist. “So sweet,” whispered Lance, sucking, lost in taste and scent. JC moaned, tilting his head to the side and Lance had to remind himself not to mark him, not where it could be seen. Later, he told himself, later he’d leave his mark all over JC’s body, all the places where it would be hidden from everyone's eyes but his.

“Fuck,” he gasped as a sharp spike of lust jolted him at the thought. His fingers tightened around JC’s cock and he jerked him faster. JC’s moans were getting loud and it was only then that Lance remembered that once things got going JC was louder than fuck and that it might be a problem, given that the walls weren’t exactly soundproof – in fact they were pretty much paper-thin – and people did occasionally walk by and his dressing room was right next door to the changing room for the chorus on one side and Ashley‘s dressing room on the other and that guy was the biggest freaking gossip in New York. _Shit_. Because even though Lance was kind of getting off on the idea of fucking JC in his dressing room, that wasn’t the same as actually having people _hear_ him fucking JC in his dressing room. He didn’t need that, and neither did JC.

“JC.” His eyes fluttered open and settled blurrily on Lance. “You have to be quiet. Do you think you can do that?”

JC flushed and nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay – you know I love it. Just not,” Lance glanced toward the door, “here.” He pressed his face to JC’s neck. His cock felt as hard as iron as he nudged it against the leather-clad curves of JC’s ass. Lance felt a bit light-headed, and he couldn't help noticing that he was trembling slightly. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Damn, JC. There really weren't too many guys who could so completely shred Lance's poise, but JC had always been able to, ever since the very first time all those years ago.

“Want you so bad,” he whispered. “Want to – God, JC.”

“Yeah,” breathed JC. “Now.” He pushed his pants down over his hips, wriggling in a most enticing manner in his efforts to free his hips and ass from the tight, clinging leather. "Now," he said again, shoving them down impatiently. "Now."

Lance watched him with a kind of breathless fascination as the pants inched lower, smooth black leather giving way to smooth pale skin. JC shimmied, and _Christ_ , his _hips_. When he'd peeled the pants down to mid-thigh he leaned forward, spreading his legs as far as they would allow, bracing himself against the counter and looking up to meet Lance’s eyes in the mirror.

Lance took a deep breath and made a concerted effort to focus. Lube. Condom. They were in his bag. Which was... there, behind the clothes rack. It was hard to step back, to tear his eyes from the lush contour of JC’s ass, but he forced himself to, scrabbling through his gym bag and returning with the necessary items in hand. He shoved the condom in his pocket and quickly slicked up his fingers.

Lance watched JC’s forehead crease and his lips part and his eyelids flutter as he traced a lubed finger around his hole and worked it slowly inside.

“So tight,” Lance whispered. “So pretty. Open up for me, baby, c’mon now. Let me in cuz I – fuck, I swear I can’t wait.”

JC whimpered, then pressed his lips together. He exhaled a breath that ended in a moan as Lance pressed another finger into him. “That’s right,” Lance murmured, as he felt JC relax. “Good.” He rubbed over his prostate and JC bucked, groaning loudly, his promise to be quiet already forgotten.

“Quiet, C,” Lance reminded him, forcing a third finger in and twisting his hand and JC bit his lip and gripped the counter and rocked back, making pained little grunting noises that Lance figured must be what resulted when JC tried to keep all that sound he usually made locked inside.

“Puh-Please,” JC stammered. “For fuck’s sake, Lance, _c’mon_. _Please_.”

And God, if there was anything hotter in all the universe than JC bent over for him and begging to be fucked, Lance didn’t know what it could possibly be. He drew back and took in the sight for a second. The thin sheen of sweat shining on JC’s back, his legs spread and ass tilted up invitingly, skin smooth and completely hairless and his sweet little pucker all pink and shiny with lube. He rubbed his thumb over it and watched it open for him, pleading, then tighten up again.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

He hurriedly dug out the condom, unzipped and rolled it on, did the quickest job of slicking himself that he'd ever managed, and still it wasn't quick enough for JC.

“Goddamnit Lance,” he growled, his patience clearly exhausted. “If you don’t fuck me this fucking second –” He never finished his sentence though, because Lance surged forward and JC’s words were lost in a yelp that morphed into a deep, dragged-out groan.

“Jesus,” Lance gasped, clapping his hand over JC’s mouth and meeting his wide-eyed glare in the mirror, a glare that soon softened as Lance thrust slowly and steadily inward until he was buried in JC up to his balls and JC’s moans were muffled in the palm of his hand.

“You’re… fuck, baby, you’re… oh my God, C.”

Lance thought he well may die, it felt so fucking good. It was always good with C, always amazingly, fantastically good. He loved fucking JC, because JC loved to be fucked and he gave himself over to the act with the same concentration and enthusiasm that he devoted to performing. Add to that the fact that the man had the ass of an angel and Lance simply could not figure out how he’d managed to survive without this for the past eight years. Lance had fucked a lot of guys in his life, but never anyone who rendered him as hopelessly incoherent as JC. So Lance gave up on coherency, figuring it was well beyond him at the moment, with JC’s ass squeezing him so tight and hot that he couldn't think or speak or feel anything beyond that velvety grip around his cock.

JC’s body thrummed with anticipation beneath him, hips already working back and forth, starting slow and shallow but quickly getting into the rhythm and moving with purpose. Lance closed his eyes and took a deep breath and had the sudden realization that yes, there was something in the universe that was hotter than JC bent over and begging for it and that was JC bent over and fucking himself on Lance’s cock and oh-holy-shit there was no fucking way in hell that this was gonna last, was there? Nope, Lance thought, with a twinge of regret. No fucking way.

Lance resolved to take JC home after and spread him out on his bed and drive him slowly out of his mind, make it last for hours, let his mouth and fingers re-learn every inch of JC’s skin, but right now this was about hard and fast and his cock in JC’s ass and _oh Lord_ , JC moving, moving, moving beneath him because any second someone could knock on the door or try to push it open or call his name, and Lance’s hips jerked, and _fuck_ that shouldn’t make him so hot, but it did. Fuck, it really did.

So he fucked JC, fucked him quick and dirty and hard and fast, his hand over JC’s mouth to mute his cries. The muscles of JC's arms were corded and trembling, his hips rolled up sinuously to meet Lance’s, his cock bobbed untouched and no doubt aching, but Lance couldn’t spare a hand to stroke him, not unless... He took his hand away, and the moan that had been muffled by his palm escaped for a second before JC bit it back.

“Quiet,” Lance gasped. “If you – quiet – then I can –”

He leaned forward, his fingers digging into JC’s hip hard enough to bruise. His hand closed around JC’s cock, slippery with lube.

“ _Ohhh_ ,” JC sighed, like it was a revelation. Lance stroked him once, thrusting at the same time and JC bit his lip, squeezing his eyes closed. It almost looked like it hurt, but no, what he was feeling was the opposite of pain, Lance was pretty sure about that.

“ _Ohhh – ohhh_ – oh fuck – fuck m-me – yeah, Lance, like that. Jesus, _yeah_ –” A litany of whispered words fell from JC’s lips, but after a moment Lance wasn’t listening because all he could hear was the rush of blood through his veins and the wild pumping of his heart and his own breath rasping as his lungs strained for air. Sweat rolled down his back, down his temples, his muscles ached and his heart pounded, but it didn’t matter, nothing else mattered, nothing but this – heat and hardness and the way JC’s body held him inside and the desperate sound of his whispered moans and the rush of sensation filling him until he felt like he was about to burst.

“C,” he gasped, stroking him rougher, thumb rubbing over the tip of his dick, so slick and wet. “C.” JC’s eyes opened wide, locking onto his. “Oh God, c’mon baby, c’mon –”

JC’s mouth fell open and his back arched and he bucked back so hard it made Lance lose his rhythm for a second and then he righted himself and pistoned his hips, sharp, hard, quick and his vision went red and Lance swallowed down the shout that tried to push its way up out of his throat, clamping his jaw together as he came, each pulse of his cock so deep and sweet that it filled him up until his entire body seemed to throb in time with his cock.

JC’s breath was coming in little hitching sobs and his cock, still hard, pushed into Lance’s nerveless hand. He pulled back slowly, turned JC and sank to his knees. He was barely keeping his feet anyway.

JC tasted of lube and salt and come, his cock smooth and thick on Lance’s tongue. He sucked wetly and a bit sloppily, his mouth soft and his movements uncoordinated in the afterglow of his orgasm. Lance figured the best he could do was just let his throat relax, let JC push deep, since he knew he couldn’t muster his wits enough to manage a blowjob with much skill or finesse, and thank God JC was so close that he didn’t require that at the moment anyway.

Lance pushed two fingers up inside, into slick, swollen heat and JC made a noise that sounded like a desperate, stifled howl and Lance looked up to see him biting his hand, his features screwed up into a grimace in the effort to be quiet. Lance swallowed and JC grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled. Lance winced but didn’t stop him, just sucked and swallowed and JC thrust once more, twice and then Lance felt JC’s body stiffen and his cock swell, and then heat was rolling down the back of his throat and JC’s hips were thrusting erratically and he was gasping _ah, ah, ah_ beneath his breath.

When JC was still Lance sucked him clean and drew back just as JC’s legs buckled. He sank to the floor and ended up mostly in Lance’s lap, draped over him, sweaty and panting. Lance’s arms went around his back and JC lay his head on Lance’s shoulder with a deep sigh. He was heavy for such a skinny guy and holding his weight made Lance’s back hurt, but he didn’t say anything. Not that it would matter if he had. JC was pretty out of it at the moment, slumped against him bonelessly, his face pressed into the crook of Lance’s neck.

Lance smoothed his palm over the ridges of JC’s spine from his neck to his tailbone, feeling the bump of each vertebra beneath his hand. For a moment he resisted the urge to hold him closer, then he gave up and tightened his embrace, pulling JC more fully onto his lap. It was JC, after all. He wasn’t likely to protest and indeed, he just snuggled in, humming contentedly, his arms sliding around Lance’s middle.

“Come home with me?” Lance asked.

“Yeah,” breathed JC, his breath damp against Lance’s neck. “Okay.”

Lance trailed his fingertips back up, let them feather gently into JC’s hair. He turned his face and pressed a kiss to JC’s temple.

“Missed you, C. So much.”

“Me too,” JC murmured.

“Not just since Vienna,” Lance whispered, his lips brushing JC’s ear. “Before that too. It was so long. Too long.” _Without you_.

“I know.” There was a pause, then JC spoke, very quietly. “Me too.”

Lance sighed and stroked JC’s hair, dropping soft kisses along his neck. He shifted, trying to bring JC even closer and that’s when it hit him.

He really wasn't a soft kisses and cuddling kind of guy and what the fuck was he doing, whispering in C's ear about how much he'd missed him after a quick and dirty dressing room fuck?

And then he realized. And for a second it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room because he couldn’t fucking breathe.

He didn’t – He couldn’t – Except he thought it was probably too late and he already was.

God help him, but he thought it was just possible that he might be gone on JC all over again. And yeah, great idea, because that had worked out _so_ well the last time. And now with two separate careers and living on opposite coasts and him out and JC not and... God. Could he be any more stupid? Why couldn’t he stick with models? Models made things so easy.

JC didn’t make things easy. He never had, and Lance wouldn’t expect him to now.

Lance made himself stop. None of that mattered at the moment. He was just going to take it one thing at a time, try to focus on the here and now.

Whatever happened, he was going to make damned sure that he got one thing right this time. He was going to be there next to JC tomorrow morning when he woke up.

At least the bar wasn’t set very high. He should be able to manage to do better than last time, which wasn't saying much. But small as it was, it was something. It was a start.


End file.
